Amor ordinem nescit
by silenus
Summary: What's the point of having 'A Plan' if Malfoy won't follow it? (HP/DM). *updated: chapter 4*
1. Chapter One

Title: Amor ordinem nescit (Love knows no reason)  
Author: silenus (silenusnz@hotmail.com)   
Rating: PG-13   
Pairing: HP/DM – yip it's slash people. Leave if you must.   
Disclaimer: characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing them for a tic.   
Note: just an experiment. Go with me on this. And for anyone who's having trouble working out who's saying what - each line is a different speaker and since it's a Harry POV, all thoughts are Harry's.  
Feedback: um, sure, why not? 

Harry Potter was having a bad day. Actually, scratch that. He was having a terrible day. And it was all Malfoy's fault. 

He supposed it was karma. Somewhere, at sometime, he must have really pissed someone off. I mean _really_ pissed someone off. Because, dammit! this was the third time today! The third time he'd turned into a seemingly deserted corridor only to find Malfoy already there, one step ahead of him. 

He was just so sick of playing this infernal cat-and-mouse game with Malfoy. It had gotten to the point where their animosity was _expected_. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin quidditch games had turned into all out grudge matches between the two seekers to the point where the 'Hogwarts Underground Gambling Association' (admirably run by Seamus Finnegan) could care less about who caught the snitch and starting taking bets on which one of them would end up in the Hospital Wing first. And he was just. so. sick. of. it. After six years he had decided to call it quits. It was about time someone stepped up to the plate, put their differences behind them, and started anew. And since it probably wasn't going to be Malfoy, Harry felt that the responsibility fell to him. 

So Harry, in what was typical _Harryesque _fashion, had decided to ignore Malfoy. It was a good plan in theory really, after all they didn't share all that many classes together, they certainly didn't eat together, and Hogwarts was a large enough castle with plenty of dark places and deserted hallways to hide in if need be. Though he certainly hadn't expected to find Malfoy in these places, after all, that was the _point_ of 'The Plan'. Not to find Malfoy. To keep all contact to a necessary minimum. Though he did ruefully admit that if they'd been playing 'hide and seek' Malfoy would certainly be winning. What, with those incredible 'seek Harry, annoy Harry' powers of his. But dammit, what good is having a plan if Malfoy wasn't going to follow the rules? And this was the third time today! 

Completely and utterly exasperated. "Malfoy, what do you want?" 

A smirk. Or maybe a grimace. He couldn't tell in this light. Wasn't there some code, or building regulation about requiring lighting in hallways? He'd have to get Hermione to look into it. Huh? What? 

A hand was being waved in his face. Eyebrows raised. "Well?" 

"What makes you think I want anything Potter?" Ah, there was that smirk. Malfoy had moved closer, and really, didn't he understand the concept of personal space? 

"Um, Malfoy?" 

"Yes?" 

"Um…" 

"My, aren't we eloquent today. Try again, we might eventually get to a sentence." 

"Huh?" 

"Okay, we'll start small. Just string some random words together, you'll get there in no time." More smirking. Doesn't he ever get tired of that? 

"Don't you ever get tired of that?" Well, there you go. Now I've got a frown. And really Malfoy. Personal. Space. 

"Tired of what exactly?" Ow, ouch. Where did that wall come from? "Cold, Potter?" 

"There's a draft." 

"A draft?" 

"Cold air Malfoy. Ring any bells?" Hmm, I wonder if he practices smirking in the mirror? 

"Potter…" That was rather....groping for a suitable word all he could come up with was 'breathy'. Breathy? Was that even a word? 

"Look, Malfoy this is swell and all ... but I have to go. Um, homework. Yes, homework. Ah, in the library." Wow. Malfoy's eyes are really grey. "Um, with Hermione. And Ron. Yeah, Ron." Inexplicably a strange urge to start discussing tea parties with Malfoy was quickly dismissed by a rather loud voice in his head which was currently yelling RETREAT! RETREAT! RETREAT! 

"Right." Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Breath, Harry. Breathe. "You haven't been ignoring me have you?" What? Was he that obvious? It's only been one day of 'The Plan' for crying out loud! Okay, that was the absolute last time he asked Neville for help with anything. "I don't like being ignored." 

"Oh great, now you tell me". 

"Hmm, so eager to please Potter?" Malfoy's face was so close now he could practically feel the smirk. 

"Huh?" 

"I said, 'so eager to please Potter?'" Hmm. Perhaps he should have put more thought into 'The Plan'. And while he was considering revisions, next time, turtlenecks. Nice, thick turtlenecks. That draft had really picked up. He couldn't stop shivering. 

Mwhmm. Hey, what was that? "Malfoy?" 

"Potter?" 

"Malfoy? Um, what...?" This wasn't part of the plan. Though if someone had asked him right then what exactly 'The Plan' was, he wasn't sure he'd be able to tell them. But he's pretty sure it didn't involve a dark, deserted corridor with a certain silver-haired Slytherin practically molded against him who was currently breathing, and possibly more, on his neck. 

An enigmatic smile. "Amor ordinem nescit, Potter." 

And then he was gone. 

Harry stood there and tentatively brought his fingers to his neck, as if he could still feel Malfoy there. 

Maybe he needed to revise the plan. 

--------  
Special thanks to the reviewers of the original version of this fic:** BlueDragon, koureshin, Zahrah Radcliffe, Zarah, Gabrielle, zeynel, NayNymic, She-Who-Is-Not-To-Be-Psyc, and DragonsFly.** You guys rock! 


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Amor ordinem nescit (Love knows no reason)  
Author: silenus (silenusnz@hotmail.com)   
Rating: PG.   
Pairing: HP/DM – yip it's slash people. Leave if you must.   
Disclaimer: characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing them for a tic.   
  
**Important ****Note:** chapter 1 has been edited (15/06/2003 or 06/15/2003 for all you Americans) to make this a multi-chaptered fic for all those who requested it. I had no intentions of continuing it, but then re-reading it, it doesn't make all that much sense as a one-shot does it?

Feedback: um, sure, why not? And in return you can have a cookie!

Harry was confused. Baffled. Understandably incoherent, and after what must have been several hours sitting on a cold stone floor he was cold, tired and had a nasty headache from when he had tried, rather unsuccessfully, banging his head against the wall in an attempt to make some sort of sense from his last meeting with Malfoy. And all he had come up with in that time was that he hadn't come up with anything. 

Not exactly worth the cramped position and sore ass that he was currently sporting.  
  
He heard footsteps and muffled voices then, louder, "Harry! There you are, we've been worried sick. Look Ron, he's over here!" and then the footsteps were closer and a rather clammy hand was placed on his forehead. "Harry? Are you okay?"  
  
He tried swatting her away. "Harry!" Well, that didn't work. 

"Herm, I'm fine." 

Eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Really? People who are fine do not miss dinner to sit by themselves in damp, dark corridors and attempt to catch a fever!" 

She's got me there. Well, except for the fever part. "No, really. I'm fine. I'm just.... I'm just, thinking that's all." Thinking about Malfoy while trying not to think about Malfoy. And not being successful at it by any account. 

"Hmm. Well, come on, we should get back to the common room before Filch or Mrs. Norris catches us." 

"Okay." 

A concerned look from Hermione. "Really, Harry, are you okay? Not worrying about tomorrows quiz in Potions are you?" 

A snort from Ron, "why worry? Snape will just fail him anyway." Too true. 

"No, no, nothing like that. I'm just thinking about..." oh well, what could it hurt? "...Malfoy". 

Two voices, one intrigued, the other shocked, "Malfoy?" 

"What about Malfoy?" 

"Oh, nothing really, just something he said to me." Did to me. 

A noise of disgust from Ron, "well, in that case, it's definitely not worth thinking about. Just forget it." 

Just forget it. Just. Forget. It. His new mantra. 

Hermione was still looking at him with concern, what Ron called her 'Mother Hen phase'. "Right. You're right. It's nothing." A yawn. When did he get so tired? Oh right, it was in between thinking about Malfoy, the Plan, and not thinking about Malfoy. "Come on, I could use some sleep." 

Hermione made a few _tut tut _noises but otherwise led them out of the corridor and up to the tower without any further comment on her part. However, now that Harry had opened up a conversation about Malfoy, Ron was keen to carry it on and only Harry climbing into his bed in the Gryffindor dormitories seemed to slow him down any. 

"I mean, Harry, he's a real git. He hasn't changed in six years. It's all 'My Father this and My Father that' and if he calls Hermione a Mudblood one more time, I swear I'll…" 

Harry finished the sentence for him, "get into a fight, get caught by Snape, and lose Gryffindor about 100 house points." Another yawn. "You said it yourself, just forget about it." Forget about him. Forget about grey eyes, enigmatic smiles and warm breath on flushed, fevered skin. 

Just stick to the plan. With a few slight revisions of course. The world was the same. Nothing had changed. Harry was still Harry and Malfoy was still Malfoy, who it turned out was someone who could, without any real apparent effort on his part it seemed, get under Harry's skin. On Harry's skin. 

Dammit! He was not thinking about it. 

"Ron?" But, apparently talking about it was okay. 

A chuckle. "Harry? I thought you wanted to sleep?" 

"Um, yeah, but...., have you ever thought that you knew everything about someone, had them completely figured out, but one conversation changed that, changed everything? And now you don't know what to think? It's not that you were wrong about that person, it's just that you weren't completely right. Ron….?" 

He almost didn't hear the response, Ron had muttered it into his pillow and was apparently trying to sleep even if Harry had changed his mind and now sleep was the last thing he wanted. 

"Yeah. With Hermione. All the time." 

With Hermione. And Harry really didn't want to think about the implications that little statement had. Because he hated Malfoy. Hated Malfoy. Well, maybe hate was a bit much. _Strongly disliked_ might be a bit more appropriate. And Malfoy felt the same didn't he? Didn't he? 

What was it he had said in the corridor? Argh. Something about more ordinates? Amor something? Ordinates something? Purposively cryptic that's what it was. 

"Harry. Stop thinking. Go to sleep." Ron, the voice of wisdom. 

And so he slept, softly repeating his mantra. Just. Forget. It. 

------------ 

Harry used to think he dreamed in grey. Voldemort was grey. Death was grey. Grey represented a cold, stark reality. A relict of his past, a promise of his future. 

But this dream was different. Vivid. Colourful. Warm. He was lying on his back in a field idly fingering a chain of daisy's someone had carefully wrapped around his wrist. That same someone who was curled up against him, their head tucked under Harry's chin, lightly humming a tune which sounded vaguely reminiscent of 'Mad About the Boy'. They didn't speak, just continued to lie there, basking in the warmth from the sun and from each other. 

And he woke, panting, remembering only the feeling of silver hair and soft, warm breaths against his neck.  



	3. Chapter Three

Title: Amor ordinem nescit (Love knows no reason)  
Author: silenus (silenusnz@hotmail.com)  
Rating: PG-13.  
Pairing: HP/DM – yip it's slash people. Leave if you must.  
Disclaimer: characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing them for a tic.  
Feedback: um, sure, why not? And in return you can have a cookie!   
A/N: Extra special thanks to my reviewers, even if you are few and far between, **zeynel**,** lisawescott**,** Icy Flame**,** Kourin **- you guys rock!

Despite all hopes, scrubbing floors was not an activity that you could become proficient in. It was either done or it wasn't. Nothing short of overdosing on the cleaning potion fumes and imagining you'd just been picked as the English seeker for the next World Cup could erase the mind-numbing tediousness of the activity and actually make it enjoyable. And even that was counter-productive most of the time, as Harry ruefully realised that he'd been incessantly scrubbing at the same patch of floor for the last 15 minutes.

But even that brief foray into fantasy was better than thinking about the reality of the situation he'd found himself in. To be stuck in the same room for the next three hours with Draco Malfoy and enough noxious gas to have him reciting bad love poetry and soliloquising on the beauty of pale hair and grey eyes.

Yes, much better to be daydreaming about quidditch than _that_.

So he picked up the brush, chose a new spot to focus his inattentions on, and pretended he didn't just see Malfoy roll his eyes at him.

It had been a week since 'The Plan', which was, as far as Harry could make out, a complete and utter failure on his part. A week since the incident in the corridor. A week since his discussion with Ron which, thankfully, he'd forgotten all about by the next day, though Hermione was still giving him occasional, 'I'll-figure-you-out' concerned glances. A week since Malfoy, for whatever reason, had suddenly, inexplicably, become a key player in his life. A week since his role as unofficial 'thorn-in-my-side' rival had become something more. Or something less. A week since the dreams had begun.

But he really wasn't going to think about that. Not here. Not with Malfoy less than 10 feet away from him.

Harry cursed whatever back luck had landed him in detention in the first place. Even though, really, it _was _Harry's own fault. Not that he'd ever admit that. Admit that it was his inattention that made him add one too many salamander tails to the potion, and that it was only the haphazard thought that hey, the potion was supposed to be indigo, and not seven different shades of puce, that let him know things were a little _off_.'A little off' translating to an explosion that covered Harry and Ron, and not to mention the front half the classroom, in the foul pink substance. Though, on the bright side of things, it did smell kinda nice. Like cinnamon.

As to why Malfoy was in detention, he had no idea.

And he wasn't curious in the least. No siree Bob. He was just going to sit there and patiently scrub at his section of the floor until Malfoy cracked and started talking.

Which, judging by the past week, was bound to happen sooner or later.

Except that he hadn't cracked, and for the past hour had simply, unwaveringly, scrubbed the floor with a focus that belied the fact that he was anything but upper-class society and had probably never cleaned a floor in his life. He had never looked over. Never tried to engage Harry in any type of conversation, even if it were of the 'deatheater scum….Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die' variety, and not the more maddening breathy, cryptic-type of conversation that was his pattern of late. Which was so different to the established pattern of the last few days.

The last few days were Harry had pointedly tried to ignore Malfoy, while not ignoring him, only to find him there, at his back, by his side, smirking, smiling, winking, staring, to the point where Harry was beginning to see Malfoy even when he wasn't there, because he was. Always. There.

He had become some sort of puzzle that kept standing at arms length, just out of reach, waiting to be solved. And it had just gotten too much, and he had snapped. And told Malfoy in no uncertain terms to just stay away. 

And Malfoy had. Evidence A: his current behaviour during detention.

And if Harry was confused before, he was even more so now.

Because Malfoy was ignoring _him_.

It was as if their roles were reversed. As if he'd finally been given what he wanted. Only that, he found he didn't want it anymore. And on that note he threw the brush onto the floor where it reverberated with a dull clang, and preceded to bore holes through Malfoy's head with his eyes until Malfoy paid him some kind of attention.

He didn't have to wait long. "Bored so soon, Potter?" How he managed that effortless drawl while on his hands and knees, still steadily scrubbing at the floor, was beyond Harry to figure out.

"I'm confused."

A chuckle. Though it had been clamped down, because for a second there, Harry was sure Malfoy was going to break into giggles. Maybe the fumes were finally getting to him? "Well Potter, pick up that brush again, dunk it in that bucket of water there," he pointed with his head, "and scrub."

And really, watching Malfoy as he continued to scrub the floor shouldn't have been that hypnotic. He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts, but only ended up giving himself a headache. "No."

"No, Potter?" And was it his imagination that there had been a pause, no matter how infinitesimal it may have seemed, while Malfoy had been scrubbing?

"No. I mean us. I'm confused about us." And he'd waved his hands, completely forgetting that Malfoy was facing the opposite direction and wouldn't have seen if Harry had been making finger puppets or obscene gestures.

"There is no us Potter." As cool as that. No pause whatsoever. Nothing shaking that veneer. And Harry so wanted to do that. Wanted to see him crack.

"Dammit, Malfoy! Look at me when I'm talking to you!" And for some reason, he realised he was mad. Furious. And he couldn't ever remember being this mad. Not when Dudley had pushed him out of the way that time in the zoo, or even when Aunt Marge had been going on about his parents. He was so angry, and yet, he didn't truly understand why. He just knew that somewhere along the line he'd stood up and was gesticulating widely with still soapy hands that smelled faintly of cinnamon. "Look at me!"

And ever so slowly, Malfoy let go of his brush and spun around on his back foot until he was facing Harry. He expected anger, but what he got shocked him still; his hands frozen. There was nothing. No anger, no emotion, nothing. He watched, rooted to the spot as Malfoy got to his feet and began walking over to where he stood. And continued walking until he backed Harry up into the wall.

Deja-bloody-vu.

Malfoy's mouth next to his ear, so that when he spoke, Harry swore he could hear it everywhere. Feel it everywhere. "What exactly is it you want Potter?"

Good question. But did he have to be so close?

"Well?" And it seemed he was prepared to wait for an answer because he just stood there, softly breathing. Waiting.

"I. Um, I….." can't bloody concentrate with you blowing in my ear that's what!

"Focus, Harry." And then softly, "What. Do. You. Want?"

And it seemed that he was offering something, though for the life of him, Harry had no idea what. "I want…..I want." And that was enough of as an answer as he was prepared to make, and it seemed Malfoy realised that too because he backed up a little and Harry found himself looking directly into Draco Malfoy's eyes.

Yikes.

And then Malfoy looked away, and walked back to his brush and section of the floor, and resumed scrubbing. "Well Potter, we don't have all night, and you're certainly not making a lot of progress over there."

Harry grinned and let out the breath he was holding. It was alright. Whatever it was, whatever it was between them, it was alright. "Well, Malfoy, we can't all be good little cleaners like you. I never knew you took so well to menial labour."

And Malfoy laughed. And Harry was surprised to find out he was wrong. There was something that could make this enjoyable.

Though he was a little shocked to discover that it was simply Draco Malfoy's company.


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Amor ordinem nescit (Love knows no reason)  
  
Author: silenus (silenusnz@hotmail.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13.  
  
Pairing: HP/DM - yip it's slash people. Leave if you must.  
  
Disclaimer: characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing them for a tic.  
  
A/N: hey, my chapters are getting longer. Not up to my usual standards (which isn't terribly high anyway, but still).  
  
-------  
  
"Harry. We need to talk." The words feared most by all well-intentioned by notoriously fun-loving Gryffindors, and not to mention a handful of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well.  
  
The Talk.  
  
With Hermione.  
  
Which wasn't exactly what Harry had envisioned when he'd agreed to play Wizard's Chess with Ron. In one of his more prosaic moments he simply pictured Ron, a chess board, and lots of chocolate frogs, and was fully prepared to enjoy the thirty-five minutes it would take for Ron to beat him (again). He certainly didn't imagine that 'The Talk' would be making an appearance, or even Hermione herself for that matter (who had had, she swore, another assignation with the library), but now here she was, bearing down on him with one of her 'this is for your own good' looks.  
  
And the common room was suddenly completely empty. Even Ron had left. He supposed they must have left during his oft-repeated impression of a stunned goldfish.  
  
Cowards. The lot of them!  
  
Still, he couldn't help but admit that if he'd gotten the heads up that apparently everyone else had been given he'd have been out of there faster than a .. well, something very fast.  
  
But he recognised, though obviously not on a chessboard, a stalemate when he saw one. He quickly schooled his features from 'deer in headlights' to 'exasperated but polite' - the only way to deal with Hermione in this situation that wouldn't get him a) lynched or b) forced to endure 'The Talk' for more than he had to.  
  
Ah, hell! Who was he kidding? 'Talking' with Hermione was something akin to ritual sacrifice by being smothered in honey and left trussed up in the Forbidden Forest to be eaten by rabid dogs. And it was completely, exasperatingly unpredictable. It was probably the closest he'd ever get to walking across a live minefield.  
  
Without the mines. Or the walking.  
  
But still - Pure danger.  
  
"Hermione. What's up?" Suave thy name is Potter. Harry Potter.  
  
A snort from Hermione. Apparently not suave then, though knocking over several chess pieces while trying to follow Rule I of 'how to get out of 'The Talk' in one piece' (by Ronald Weasley, see Seamus Finnegan for copies) - Avoid Eye Contact, Focus on Something, Anything, Remain Calm At All Times - probably wasn't helping things.  
  
"Harry are you gay?" Though really, keeping eye contact was a highly underrated skill, and particularly difficult when Hermione was sitting across from you clasping both of your hands within her own, in what he supposed was an attempt at comfort though only had the end effect of making his hands clammy, with both of her eyes fixed completely on your own.  
  
And she just sat there and waited. In an unnervy silence. Rather like the old westerns he'd occasionally been allowed to watch at the Dursley's, and he almost gigged imagining the next words our of Hermione's mouth as 'this town ain't big enough for the both of us.'  
  
Almost.  
  
Until he realised just exactly what she had said. Are you gay?  
  
He choked instead.  
  
"Wh.what?"  
  
"Harry, it's completely okay to be gay." Yeah, well sure, if you were gay. But he wasn't. Because he was sure that there was a completely logical explanation that would explain his recent (and all-consuming) thoughts about Malfoy. There had to be.  
  
He just hadn't come up with one yet, that's all.  
  
"Hermione, I'm not." and coupled with some rather confused head shaking Harry just hoped that she'd get this over with as quickly as possible. Admit defeat and walk away.  
  
"Harry. It's. Okay. To. Be. Gay". Then again Hermione wasn't exactly known for walking away from 'The Talk'. She saw it as one of her responsibilities. Though really, correct enunciation wasn't helping matters.  
  
"Why, why would you think that?"  
  
"Because I'm your friend." Well, okay then. That clears that up. You think I'm gay because you're my friend. "And I've been watching you. You've been a little out of it this week."  
  
"I fall asleep in Charms and suddenly I'm gay?"  
  
"You were fine before the Incident in the corridor, and then," she waves her hands at Harry like his current position should explain itself.  
  
"And then.?"  
  
"And then there was that detention." Ah the Detention. Following the Incident. "You go from acting depressed and confused to walking around with this perpetual crazy grin on your face like you've just discovered chocolate."  
  
Crazy grin? "What crazy grin?"  
  
"The one you've been wearing since detention. The one you're wearing now."  
  
Oh.  
  
"And your detention was with Malfoy."  
  
Oh.  
  
"And detention with Malfoy isn't something that someone spends days smiling about, unless.." and she's waving her hands again looking, Harry's happy to note, slightly uncomfortable for the first time in the conversation.  
  
"You think I'm gay because I had detention with Malfoy and now I'm smiling?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Hermione? Are you on medication? Because I'm really not connecting the dots here."  
  
"Harry let's just say you've been in an emotional coma for most of the year- "  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Harry let me finish!" Woops, forgot the second rule of 'how to get out of 'The Talk' in one piece' - Do Not Interrupt! "You haven't been in a relationship since your 'fling' with Cho in fifth year. Let's face it, and you know I love you Harry and I'm only saying this because I'm your friend, but you're practically an emotional vegetable. The only time you're reacting is when you're fighting and most of the time that's with Malfoy. And then all of a sudden, bam! you're smiling like you haven't for years, and as an aside you're freaking out the first years by the way, you might want to tone it down a little."  
  
"So I'm happy? It's hardly a cause for a 'Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Told-He-Was- Gay intervention." And was that just him or did that come out a little sulky?  
  
"Harry I'll break this down for you. For some scary, crazy, Twilight Zone 'Snape's awarded you fifty points' reason, Malfoy makes you happy. Being with Malfoy makes you happy. Scary happy. Ergo. You like Malfoy. Ergo you're gay."  
  
"No it doesn't. And stop saying ergo." That was definitely sulky.  
  
"Well then Harry explain it to me."  
  
"I over-dosed on Cheering Charms again?"  
  
"I doubt that Harry."  
  
"Well maybe I breathed in too many fumes from the cleaning solution we were using at detention?"  
  
"Which has lasted for four days?"  
  
"It was high potency, extra strength Herm."  
  
"Hmm. Do you know you haven't even mentioned Malfoy yet? Shouldn't you be screaming from the rooftops or something about how much you hate him? That I'm completely wrong and that it's Malfoy for christs sake! Eww." Eww? Come on, Malfoy's even a blind person would have to admit that Malfoy's above average on the appearance scales.  
  
"You are completely wrong, and as for the screaming apparently I'm too happy for that now aren't I?'  
  
"Don't get stroppy Harry I'm trying to help."  
  
"By calling me gay?"  
  
"It's not a bad name you know. Plenty of guys and girls are gay."  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"Well, no."  
  
"Well, there you are then."  
  
"Harry we're talking about you, not me."  
  
"Well maybe I'm sick of being the centre of attention!"  
  
"There's only the two of us here."  
  
Argh! This was definitely a head-on-table-banging moment if there ever was one.  
  
"Harry.Oh! Stop that, you'll hurt your head, and Ron will never forgive you if you damage his chess board."  
  
Softly. "I may like him," and then quickly, "but just a little bit."  
  
Just a little bit. I like him. And saying that hadn't been as difficult as he'd thought it would be. He wasn't quite to prepared to begin labelling himself with the 'GAY' tag, but he had to admit that since the Incident and the Detention he'd been plagued with, well, less than platonic thoughts about Malfoy.  
  
All. The. Time.  
  
Though he certainly wasn't sharing that information with Hermione, who was looking too smug with herself as it was.  
  
"I'm not even going to pretend to understand, but if he makes you this happy he's got to be doing something right. And don't feel you have to tell me, you know."  
  
"I know what?"  
  
"You know," and leaning across the table to whisper in a conspiratorial manner like they were a couple of five year old girls, "details."  
  
And when in Rome, "details? What details?" Quite the picture they'd make if the rest of the house chose that moment to walk back into the common room. The two of them sitting opposite each other, hands clasped in the centre of the table and backs hunched over the desk so that their faces were close together, whispering.  
  
"About you and Malfoy."  
  
Oh. Details about him and Malfoy. He had to shake his head to dispel the sudden images that popped into his mind of certain things that Hermione could be thinking.  
  
Ahem. Hermione apparently has quite the dirty mind.  
  
"Herm!" That sounded decently outraged. "We haven't done anything. Just talked. A little."  
  
"But you want to? Do something?"  
  
Argh. Stop. With. The. Images. He pulled his hands out from Hermione's and cradled his head. "You won't tell Ron will you?"  
  
"Nope. You can tell him."  
  
"But, there's nothing to tell. Really."  
  
"Fine." Where was a comfortable silence when you needed one? He could almost picture a tumbleweed blowing slowly across the common room with the theme song from some corny western echoing in his ears. "But promise me you'll tell him when there is something to tell?"  
  
Rule III of 'how to get out of 'The Talk' in one piece' - Admit Defeat. Agree with Her. " I Promise."  
  
"Well, okay I'll let the rest of the Gryffindors back in. If anyone asks by the way, we were talking about you slacking off in class. Actually, while we're on the subject-"  
  
"No!" Hermione looked a little abashed so he grinned sheepishly, "you've given me a bit to think over, I think I'll just go to the library for a bit. You know, to think." Well done Harry. Nice strategic defeat.  
  
"Oh heaven forbid that the library should be used for anything else!" but she was smiling so he felt reassured that they were fine, and that inexplicably she was also fine with whatever might be developing between himself and Malfoy.  
  
But was Malfoy? What did he want?  
  
As he walked away from the common room towards the library he ruefully admitted, if only to himself, that maybe it wasn't so much of a strategic defeat but rather a plan of action.  
  
The library was a good place to think after all. And he certainly had a lot to think about.  
  
TBC.  
  
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